


what's mine is yours to make your own

by nevernevergirl



Series: woke up in a car [6]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevernevergirl/pseuds/nevernevergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The car belongs to Emma. He was just passing through.</p><p>Missing scene in Tallahassee before Neal hands August the keys and the money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's mine is yours to make your own

**Author's Note:**

> This is a lot of vaguely self-loathing Neal POV because he makes me really sad and I can't stop thinking about how sad it is! Eventually I'll post something with plot, I swear.

He may be a thief in this land, but where he's from, they still believe in honor. 

Neal thinks he probably shed most of his along with his old name and former lives, but he still tries to do some good-- let it peak out beneath the layers of grime and sadness, the years of senselessly downtrodden misfortunes and misdeeds and missteps. 

(He doesn't let himself believe that it counts for anything. It's just a force of habit.)

The car belongs to Emma. 

He stole it first, moved in and claimed his space and set up camp with all the things in the world he could carry on his back and call his, but--

She stole it last. The car belongs to Emma. He was just passing through. That's okay. That's what he does. It's okay that it's not different this time. It never is. 

He takes care of it for her, because it's less than the least he can do. He's got to fuck this--  _them_ \-- up, but he'll be damned if he can't at least leave her the murky dredges of a silver lining. 

He can get a clean VIN number, make the car legit. He can snatch a test vacuum from Costco to clear the crumbs out of the crevices in the backseat from their last makeshift picnic. He can take her key chain out of his pocket, let it slip through his fingers and back to her. He's not much good to her anymore, but he can do that much.

But the thing is--

The thing is that he was born from the blood of a coward: it crawls through his flesh, has settled deep into his bones. Running's easy. It's the leaving that's hard.

The dream catcher's in the trunk, nestled carefully between his acquired duffle and the thin canvas tote she'd grabbed from a Whole Foods outside of Portland. It had been sunny that day, for once, and she'd looked beautiful, like always--

It doesn't matter now.

She was right; they didn't have a place to hang it. They were going to. And now they won't, not ever.

He took a night class, once--well. Sat in on one, when he couldn't find anywhere else warm and dry, and the sleep wouldn't have come anyway. The point is: he knows what irony means, and it's not lost on him here. He'd seen that thing, and tried to give her a place to hang it,  _together._ He'd been foolish to think he could have a together.

_Keeps the bad dreams out and lets the good ones in_ , she'd said. Right.

This is a fucking nightmare. It's not new.

He keeps it. Sometimes he finds a place to hang it. Sometimes he tucks it in the top of his old duffle, zips it in carefully. He always has it. 

The car is Emma's. A family-- he hopes to fuck all that's hers, someday. This chance is Emma's. With all of the honor of his birthplace, with every code he's learned as a thief, with all the ugly cowardice of loving her more than he's allowed: this is hers. It's all he can cobble together for her. He's so sorry, but it's hers.

He tells himself he's doing the right kind of wrong thing, and keeps the dream catcher with its nightmares full of almosts for himself.


End file.
